


Learned in a Looking Glass

by angel_gidget



Category: Avengers Academy (Video Game), Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Slice of Life, getting to know a character by jumping into the deep end of the trope pool, inter-dimentional travel, marvel writing challenge, rwrc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-11 21:46:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16860862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_gidget/pseuds/angel_gidget
Summary: Nothing unusual about the Time Fog accidentally spitting out people into the wrong dimension every once in a while. It happens.Sam knows this, he just wishes that the ineffable phenomena would give him a break from spitting out so many Sam Wilsons. It gets confusing. And maybe a little confrontational.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a Marvel Writing Challenge. Sam Wilson. Innovative. Clinic. Traveler. I apologize to any Sam fans in advance for any missed nuances on my part. It's my first time writing ANY version of Sam, so I decided 'why start on the tutorial level?' Let's jump right into inter-dimensional meet of self, because why not?
> 
> Reader's Tip: Every Sam thinks he's Sam. So in the privacy of their own minds, they always find something else to call their counterparts. Get it? Got it? Good.

**_Sam Wilson. Age 39. Earth_MCU_**  
  
When Sam wakes, his hands reach for his hips instinctively. It’s not the PTSD. Nope. It gave him many things, but not an itchy trigger finger, thank God. Nope, the thing that makes him reach for weaponry is his own face starring back at him from what is definitely NOT a mirror.  
  
There is a person standing over him, talking in words he can’t quite hear. Or at least, can’t understand right away. That person looks exactly like Sam did at age sixteen. Right down to the tendency towards pimples on the left side of his chin and the hard-grown stubbly goatee he’d used to cover them up.  
  
A voice way too much like his own chatters, “Any reason why he’s so old, Tony? I swear man, they just keep getting older. This dude’s gotta be like… forty.”  
  
_Excuse you,_ Sam thinks, _that is a very respectable and kick-ass age to be. Not that I’m there yet. And who asked you, Mr. Pull-up Pants?_  
  
His throat is too dry to say it, but from the way the youngster with his face backs off, he seems to have gotten the gist.  
  
There are no guns on his person where guns should be. There aren’t even any pants. Sam quickly realizes he’s in one of those dumb hospital gowns. The extra-stupid kind with the open back. And okay, as a medical professional, he understands the advantages, but he hates wearing ‘em as much as any patient.  
  
Sam should be wearing pants. And he should should have some weapons on hand. He hasn’t slept without either close by in at least a month. Being on the run with Steve and Nat has requirements. He’s seen the interior of a lot of different places, but not quite… this.  
  
This is looks like a cross between one of Stark’s labs and a Veterinarian’s office. And a film set. The walls are shorter than the ceiling. The ceiling is high and ware-house-like. The walls are painted a calming nondescript taupe and clustered around to grant privacy in a multi-use space with a variety of instruments scattered around.  
  
“The hell?” He croaks.  
  
“Welcome to the clinic,” the teenage doppelgänger spreads his arms, “The one place on this entire campus that Tony and Fury haven’t upgraded six ways from Sunday.”  
  
“I resent that,” A voice squeaks from behind Left Pimple, “The only reason I’ve half-assed this medical wing is because _somebody_ flew their mechanical winged self through five walls of our triage center and took out all the power-source wiring after getting into a football game with Thor. And that was yesterday.”  
  
Man, Sam would love to know what drugs he’s on right now, because that looks like a teenage Tony Stark. Except there is no way it’s Tony. Or even was Tony in a time-travel way because so many damn details make no sense.  
  
Sam’s teen-self yammers, “I didn’t see you complaining when I scored the touch-down for your team, Toaster-Oven.”  
  
Young Tony sniffs. He shouldn’t look that young and also have an arc reactor in his chest. And there is something different about the articulation of the gauntlet on his right hand. It may be smoother than any prosthetic Sam has seen on the vets of his acquaintance, but Sam’s pretty sure it is  Tony’s arm, and not merely a robotic glove over one.  
  
“Real talk,” Teenage-him draws his focus back, “Dimensional travel ain’t really the weirdest thing you’ve ever run into as an Avenger, right?”  
  
Sam blinks. Would it be weird to admit to this kid that he’s managed to avoid the super-weird Avengery-ness by holding fast to the most grounded heroes he knows? Sam hasn’t been sheltered from much, but he supposes if he’s still been sheltered from anything, it’s from having to dig too deep into the weird, magical, meta-physical side of being a superhero.  
  
He has no regrets about approaching Steve Rogers. And getting to know Natasha has been a privilege apart from the way her feet really stink when they’ve been in a too-small car for 42 hours and she takes her boots off and glares to let him and Steve know that she will not tolerate any acknowledgement of that human flaw.  
  
But he’s got to admit he never got close to Wanda. He didn’t dislike Wanda, really. But the younger woman would come and go, and stare off into space, even as Natasha would try and try to draw her out. Girl clearly wanted to be somewhere else. Preferably with Vision. Sam wasn't gonna judge that. And if it meant he didn’t have deal with any weird magic logistics as a result? All cool. Even when they trained at the compound, Steve had a gift for boiling down their gifts into a very real list of what they could do and how it could work together.  
  
People on the street have asked him what’s it like to be an Avenger. They’ve asked him about Hulk. They’ve asked him about Thor. And yeah, if it’s some really small kid who’s got that I-believe-in-Santa spark in their eye, Sam might make up some small story just for them. But some grown-ass adult? Nah. Sam will straight-up tell them that he’s never met those guys.  
  
No gods. A few monsters. But nothing that’s made him get too existential. Sam always figured he had enough of that in his volunteer work, helping relatively normal people.  
  
But staring into way-too-familiar brown eyes has Sam thinking he’s about to get a crash course.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Sam Wilson. Age 17. Earth _ AVAC**_  
  
His cranky old-self is a badass. On the one hand, Sam is kinda pleased, because who doesn't like the assurance that their multiversal older selves are badasses?  
  
But like, the necessity of it is always gonna be kinda sad. The guy has been eyeing the walls like he doesn’t trust them to be real. (And yeah, they’re kind of not. But still.) Or maybe he thinks he’s being watched. Okay, the dude’s not wrong about that either.  
  
Sam turns to Tony with a sigh, "We got any idea why the time-fog has been spittin' up so much of... me?"  
  
“No more than why it spit out seven different relatives of Jan’s from different generations last week, buddy. You know that long explanation Prof Pym was spouting yesterday?”  
  
Sam hangs tight for a pause. Sometimes that’s just the best route to take with Tony, who continues, “Well, it basically amounts to him calling the time-fog temperamental. Just, you know, while trying to sound like he’s not actually ascribing personality to the time fog. But that’s what it means.”  
  
Sam looks back over his shoulder. Other-him stares right back. Clearly with a little more experience with over-the-shoulder starring. Forty. Because thirty-nine definitely rounds up to forty. Yeesh.  
  
Sam sighs. He’s had two other selves of his pop up in the last three days, and neither of them have possessed any chill.   
  
There was the thirty-something him dressed as Captain America. He was cool, but he hadn’t stayed long. That guy was _connected_. He had enchanted dimension-hopping tech tucked away in one of his side-pockets for the very occasion of getting accidentally (or otherwise) whisked away to a foreign dimension on the fly.   
  
Dude just had to tap a button to find his way back. The guy had been thoughtful enough to say some inspirational words before jetting, but Sam would honestly have preferred advice on how to ask Kamala to the prom.   
  
Still, that suit had been sweet. Jan had caught Sam eying the threads, and was now working on a variation for him after checking to make sure Steve was cool with it. Steve had nodded and acted like seeing a Sam way older than him in a cap-suit spouting speeches wasn’t unnerving even though it totally was at least a little bit. But Steve was ultimately a good bro about it.  
  
Sam allows himself a break, heading outside onto the campus quad. Might be time to grab himself a burger and then maybe fly around a bit. Escape the madness and thoughts for a few minutes.  
  
No sooner does he think that, then a shadow zips from a above, shading him from the sun. He starts at the familiarity of something he should be causing but isn’t. It’s his twenty-something self that is still flying around campus, trying to brain-storm his own way back. The innovative one, Tony calls him. Just because he’s an inventor type who reminds Tony of himself.  
  
Though if he’s so innovative, Sam wonders, how come he hasn’t found a way back yet?  
  
And okay, that’s not fair. Not even Pym or Tony have found out how to send people back yet.  
  
The guy lands. While there are some things about this alternate self that have rubbed Sam the wrong way, he’s got to admit the the costume is cool. The fella’s got a beak-shaped wind-shield going on over his mask that looks really thematic and makes a lot of sense. If Sam weren't so sentimental about his own goggles… well. It’s a very anime sorta look and he can respect it.  
  
Anyway, _Innovative_ touches down with an enviably-light landing and only looks up from the tablet in his hand after his feet are firmly on the ground. Skilled multi-tasker. Another thing Sam can’t quite manage with such grace.  
  
His voice is deeper than Sam’s own, but not by much, when he speaks, “So how’s our travel guy?”  
  
Travel guy because, well, his clothes were dusty as all get-out. He was still sporting some good wings and weapons, so they weren’t gonna go so far as to assume he might be a hobo, but he clearly hasn’t had steady access to showers in a while.   
  
Also, Sam and Innovative are both the kind of Sam who want to hope for the best. Better a traveler than an apocalypse survivor. Fury still hasn’t managed to recruit a decent campus counselor yet. Avengers Academy is filled with people who could use some therapy, but precious few would accept it. So they aren’t really prepared to dish any out.  
  
“Well, we called it, and he is a travel guy. But like, on-the-run kind of travel. Fugitive. With his Captain America, believe it or not.”  
  
“Cap? A fugitive? You’re kidding.” Innovative’s eyes rise sky-high.  
  
“Yeah. I didn’t get the fully story out of him, but it seemed less Mad Max and more political thriller if you get my drift. Pretty sure he’s not evil, though.”  
  
“Well, that’s what matters most, I guess, “ his multitasking alternative returns to glaring at his tablet, and Sam has to remind himself that the very fact that the dude IS a multi-tasker means he’s not actually ignoring Sam at all even if he seems to be.  
  
“You figuring it out?”  
  
“I’ve triangulated the ideal spot for portal construction. I’ll want to use the Stark Tower lab for building a portable frame-work, and then move it to the campus’s edge for implementation. That just leaves inventing an entire fission mechanism both powered by and capable of reading time-fog particles. No biggie.”  
  
Talk about stressed-out sarcasm. Sam may understand most of what the guy said, but could he have worded it to sound any more nerdtastic? Ah well. There are worse things.  
  
“Well man, if you decide to take a break to do something fun, I’ve got an extra penguin costume you can borrow. Should fit.”  
  
Innovative raises an eyebrow, “Why would I need a penguin costume?”  
  
Sam shakes is head. It’s like his multiverse selves have no sense of fun at all.  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

_**{Sam Wilson. Age 21. Earth_AA}**_  
  
It’s not that his mini-me doesn’t like him, Sam figures quickly, it’s that his younger alternate is kinda disappointed.  And okay, Sam gets it. Or, he has a theory and then evidence of that theory becomes substantiated as he looks over at his younger and older alternates talking to each other.  
  
Seeing a war-torn middle-aged… well, _self_ , is always gonna be disconcerting. But there’s also a certain admiration in the teenager’s eyes. The kid—and yeah, he’s not that much younger than Sam himself, but technically a minor—admires independence. A show of toughness. Stiff upper lip, or whatever you call it. And while there’s no way their elder self is genuinely okay, the elder dude is really putting on a pretty good show of it.  
  
Sam can respect that, absolutely, even envy it a bit, but imitate it? Not so much.  
  
He’s a superhero as much either of them. But even when Sam was with his own version of SHEILD, his training was bent towards the science division.   
  
He did ace the combat training. He’s proud of that, and suspects he wouldn’t have been able to get snapped up by the Avengers without it. But whatever psychological rigamarole military and/or super-spy organizations put their people through to give them that undercurrent of stoicism is … Sam hasn’t lived it.  
  
Nature vs nurture. His nurture doesn’t match theirs at hardly at all. He woke up in the clinic worried and confused, and he didn’t even _think_ of hiding those emotions, much less actually _try_ to.   
  
So the first impression he left on his teenage acne-faced self was that of a grown-ass man who worried about what his Ma would think if he was late coming back from a mission. Maybe not the most mature vibe to give off, but he thinks if more people actually met his Ma, they’d understand.  
  
He’s also thinking that maybe he should be more concerned for the kid who greeted him with “Welcome to the clinic.” because his own family life is nebulous at best.  
  
Sam put his foot in his mouth practically from the start, “Do you… you do have a Ma, right? Oh man. Maybe that’s insensitive. I’m sorr—“  
  
“Yeah. Chill. I have one. Or had one. I think. S’whatever.”  
  
Whatever? Whatever?! What did that even mean? "Did you... I dunno, hatch fully-formed from the time-fog?" Sam says it as a joke. He means it as a joke, but the way the teen is looking at him...  
  
"Kind of? Like, I know I'm your host here and all, but nobody's actually... native to this place. That I know of. 'Cept maybe Fury. We all came out of the time-fog at some point, man. It's just... I don't really remember what came before. Most of us don't. Like, we know who we are. I remember that I had a Ma. She was proud of me, that I did superhero stuff, and flew around, even... then. I think. But I'm not sure. And I'm happy here. So it's whatever."  
  
It makes Sam sick. His family never seeing him again and having no idea what happened to him, and a version of him, just shrugging like it's nothing. And the thought that it might be a cycle and Sam is about to share his fate because finding a way back is unprecedented...   
  
"Chill out! Yes, you said that aloud, bro. I didn't say it hadn't been done before. Jeez. It's just that those of us who _live here_ ," He annunciates like Sam's an idiot, to remind him that he's a person who has feelings to insult, "... don't have much reason to try to go back to some life we can't remember when the gig we have here is pretty sweet. But the first extra one of us to show up from a totally different universe already popped in and popped out. Went right home."  
  
It does bring Sam's blood-pressure down, actually. Until he learns that all the work was on that other Sam's end. Which means he must take it upon himself to invent a way home. God.  
  
This is where his own Tony would elbow him about being up to the challenge, with an overt smirk and a silent offer to help.  
  
But the Tony of this 'verse is younger than Sam, and seems a way more concerned with chasing girls. Chasing Natasha, specifically, which is just... so many levels of weird.  
  
So Sam's project won't be a group one. Solo dimension-hopping engineering homework.   
  
And if he's going to be the appropriately selfless superhero that he strives to be, he's going to have to invent the way home for his older self too.   
  
The guy can shoot a bullseye at fifty paces without targeting software, can stitch up a battle wound with dental floss, and can apparently talk that Professor Pym out of drawing anybody's blood despite his enthusiasm to do so... but the older Sam does not seem to know his way around a Stark lab.  
  
Yup. Sam's on his own.  
  
No pressure.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Sam Wilson. Age 39. Earth_MCU**_  
  
Left pimple ducks his head into Sam’s guest room like he’s the kid with no respect for privacy that he is.  
  
“Buckbeak says he’s gonna have portal machine done by our birthday tomorrow. But seeing as it’s our birthday, there will be celebrations and cake on top of you both dodging out of here. Don’t you dare miss it. I got a new set of wings coming, and the least you geezers could do after all my hospitality is let me show ‘em off.”  
  
With that hurried announcement, he’s off like a shot.  
  
Sam knows he could turn over and go right back to sleep. He’s not being hunted by Hydra or actual authorities or anybody here. He doesn’t have any volunteer hours to fill. He doesn’t even Steve knocking at his door asking to… wait.  
  
Nevermind. There is a Steve outside his door. A slightly awkward-looking teenage Steve who’s shuffling one foot, but his shoulders are back and his fist is poised to knock on the cracked-open door.  
  
“Hello, Mr. Wilson. I, uh… do you like to jog?”  
  
Might be worth finding out if this Steve will be sweet and polite enough to keep pace with Sam instead of just jogging circles around him like an asshole.  
  
So Sam drags himself upward and puts his shoes on.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he finds himself gritting his teeth for the _fifth_ time.  
  
“On your left, sir!”  
  
Well, at least calls Sam ‘sir’ and means it.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Sam Wilson. Age 21. Earth_AA**_  
  
He did it. He really did it. No Tony checking the work over Sam’s shoulder. No lucky coincidence. Just Sam, his brain, and fifty-three cups of coffee. The Falcon soars and scores. Hell yes.  
  
He gets a little help from the loopy blonde teacher with the shrinking obsession, but that’s mostly in testing the machine out once he’s finished.  
  
The Tony Stark of this world pops in to congratulate him and asks if he would like to celebrate by hopping into the jacuzzi upstairs. While that does sound like a plan, Sam kinda feels more like celebrating by tinkering with some stealth tech he saw sitting in the corner of young Stark’s lab space.  
  
“Feel free, but I hope you don’t mind if I leave you to it. You are a nerd after my own heart, sleek-beak, but the hot tub has my name on it tonight. The girls finally caved and agreed to take a dip. And you know how I feel about bikinis with ladies inside of them…” Sam notices the way Tony stretches out the fingers on his bionic arm, and rubs at the spot below his elbow where the mechanics begin.   
  
It’s a beautiful bit of workmanship, Sam can tell, but in that moment, he remembers that this Tony is still going through puberty. No matter how advanced, there’s still got to be a slight mismatch of arm upgrade and growth spurt. It probably aches. Maybe Tony has more than one reason for inviting people to join him upstairs.  
  
He almost reconsiders when Tony hands him a mini-cam.  
  
“Record the results for me, won’tcha? I’d love to see how it goes.”  
  
Sam can hardly say no to that.

* * *

  
It works like a charm. He can see everything, but no one can see him. Unless there’s some conspiracy to ignore the helmeted Falcon zig-zagging through their crazy campus, the teen Avengers of this world are totally clueless to his… okay, Daredevil just totally tried to trip him with that stick. Mostly clueless, then.  
  
It’s still fun. Despite what his younger self clearly things, he can totally have fun.  
  
He can’t speak for his older counterpart, however, as he watches the guy huff and puff in the dirt behind young Captain America’s boots.  
  
Because Sam is relaxing, and therefore acting a little on autopilot, he follows the guy.  
  
Only to watch his older and younger self meet up at the edge of the the campus cross-country track.  
  
He probably shouldn’t be listening in on a conversation between Thing 1 and Thing 2, but Sam is curious. Maybe even curious to see if they’re gonna start gossiping about him. Is it self-centered to even wonder that? He’s not sure.  
  
“Something on your mind, kid?”  
  
Younger self shrugs, but doesn’t react to the moniker. After a small silence, he finally speaks, “Did you call your mother ‘mom’ or ‘Ma?’ Or can you remember?”  
  
Older self seems to actually stop to think about it, and at once, Sam feels as though he’s probably intruding where he really, really shouldn’t.  
  
“For me, it depended on whether I was in front of friends or not. ‘Ma’ was for her and me. What about you?”  
  
“I don’t think I really remember. I’m wondering if that makes me a bad person. Or… or maybe just a less good person.”  
  
Well, now Sam is definitely feeling like a ‘less good’ person. He didn’t mean to give his mini-me a complex.  
  
But there’s something about the way the oldest Falcon settles down next to the kid that makes him relax inside.  
  
Even as Sam pulls away, tries to give them the privacy that maybe they should have had from the start, he hears the low tones that indicate things are gonna be okay.  
  
“Well, Sammy, you’re the final judge of that, but I’m here if you wanna talk about it.”


	6. Chapter 6

_**Sam Wilson. Age ~~17.~~ 18\. Earth _ AVAC**_  
  
His threads are ready. Janet is preening, and that is always a good sign. As soon as he slips on the cap-suit, he knows it’s gonna be a good night. His counterparts have been nodding and doing that patient lip-twitch thing that his friends tell him he does too. They think they are placating him. Whatever, man.  
  
He may not be a former SHIELD scientist, but Sam does have some mechanical chops. And while he may have needed Tony’s help, he’s still the one who laid out the parameters for the new jet pack’s capabilities.  
  
Both of his older counterparts are Avengers with a capital A. No “Academy” included. Fully stop. Extremely professional superheroes, the both of them.  
  
But he’s been watching them fly, and honestly, Sam has only been half-impressed. They can both _fight_ mid-air, sure. Better than Sam himself can at the moment. But pure flying? Nah, man. They need to be shown how it’s done.  
  
——  
  
It’s not that the fireworks make the whole performance, it’s that they are the perfect finishing touch.    
  
Sam performs a triple twist and smooths out until he’s in a perfectly vertical hover thirty feet up. Then it’s dive, baby, dive.  
  
He hears a low laugh and a surprised shout from the ground, in voices that sound an awful lot like his own.  
  
Yeah.  
  
He knew he could make them smile before they had to go.


End file.
